


babylon revisited

by mochacreams



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Experimental Style, F/F, Gap Filler, Grief/Mourning, Internal Monologue, Pre-Canon, Relationship Study, Serious Injuries, Snippets, Unconventional Format, bosslove, space symbolism, strangeboss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25960324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochacreams/pseuds/mochacreams
Summary: the lady mercury project’s beginning, downfall, and aftermath, and how it affects the two central women involved.// an experimental study piece on strangelove and her joy.
Relationships: The Boss/Dr. Strangelove
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	babylon revisited

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello i've been excited to post this... i experimented with the styling of things just for fun, but i dont think its _too_ overbearing at least. this is my birthday gift to myself but i hope you all can enjoy it too!

> **I. ——**

it’s the silvery wisps of her bangs that cling to her forehead (wet from anxious sweat droplets), and it’s the salty sea breeze that gets caught in her lungs and makes her choke. 

the ocean air scratches at her throat like a caged animal. once, many eves before the space launch, the coastal winds that blew through the windows of their florida home were refreshing; something to be savored. now they’re chemical—metallic. the smell simply makes her nauseous, nevermind the seasickness she already has from the rocky boat.

she would rather be inhaling nuclear fallout, or acid rain. 

when she leans over the side of the long cargo ship, gripping the railing so tightly that her knuckles turn an even pastier shade of white, she can’t spot anything bobbing along the water like it should be. 

_there should be a body._

preferably alive. 

the splashdown trajectory had missed, but it should be _here_. here, in the middle of the atlantic, where they’d raced to in a heartbeat. 

_sinking,_

_sinking,_

_sinking._

...the spacecraft had drifted below the roaring waves some time ago. only the pod had disappeared—so where was its passenger? 

her irises—hues of periwinkle behind ebony sunglasses—scan the surface, desperate for some sort of sign. and ignoring the pessimistic buzzing around her. 

~~_you should’ve fought harder to get the window removed. you shouldn’t have let them install it in the first place. you should’ve tried tooth and nail to stop joy. you should’ve shown them those brain scans in spite of it._ ~~

(even knowing there was nothing she could’ve done to convince the higher-ups, nor the boss, it still stings.)

_and now you could lose her._

strangelove has never been one to believe in any sort of god, but now she finds herself praying silently until the words in her mind jumble together incoherently. 

…

…

…

—then, as if by a miracle, someone on the crew shouts (during a moment where she’d squeezed her eyes shut), and points into the distance. 

if she looks close, her body shaking, she can spot a dot being pushed closer by the waves: a figure dressed in the same off-white color as the astronaut suits. 

even knowing her long, scarlet peacoat and black boots will be so heavy that they’ll drag her down, even knowing she’d only had enough time to rub sunscreen onto her hands, strangelove jumps over the railing without a moment of hesitation. 

after that, her recollection is dark and blurry. 

* * *

> **II. ——**

joy finally comes to in november. 

“give me water…” no sooner do the words leave the boss’s dry lips does strangelove leap from the chair besides the hospital bed, resting her head atop joy’s chest as she weeps. 

the tears that flow are a mix of salty and sweet, of sadness for being kept away so long and of happiness for finally being reunited.

the ceiling fan above them whirs methodically. 

joy puts a palm on strangelove’s head, cupping her silky hair, a small smile on her face. 

it’s easy to get lost in such a warming moment, and she does for a long few minutes—until she remembers joy’s request, and lifts her head up while pulling back. 

she’d already been drinking from a bottle, which is standing on the nightstand half-full next to her sunglasses; strangelove grabs it with gentle fingers and hands it off. 

those same gentle fingers flit upward to wipe the water from the corners of her eyes. 

the boss gives a quiet laugh after she sips her fill, though it’s not with malice. strangelove turns to her and, for the first time in half a year, her lips curl up into a grin. 

now, joy—who had shrugged off strangelove’s attempts at helping her—is sitting up in the bed, hospital gown crinkling. 

~~_this can’t be real, it’s too good to be true for someone like you._ ~~

strangelove drags her chair closer, placing one hand on the mattress and the other on joy’s thigh. 

there are a million things she could ask—and an equal amount of things she wants to relay. but for now she chooses only one: “what did you dream of?” 

a silly question—as if one could dream in a coma. 

but joy responds earnestly (of course she does), “many things. but i always heard your voice right beside me. it was so nice.”

that’s all she needs to hear right now.

* * *

> **III. ——**

in the near past, dusk would fall just after their dinners, when strangelove would be busy cleaning up and joy would start brewing their evening tea. 

the weeks before the launch felt as if they went on for ages. a bond so deep in such little time...it was something to be cherished. 

_did you know that inside every woman there's a universe, and that we are able to sense this in each other?_

“you’ll be up there soon,” strangelove had said one night, while pointing out the sliding glass doors in their living room, that led to the back porch—pointing straight at the stars in the twilight sky. 

joy sits next to her on the small couch, fresh chamomile tea in either hand. “you’ve worked hard to make it possible. you all have.” 

strangelove takes the second mug that joy offers and nurses it between her palms. 

oh, if it were a leisure trip, she’d love to go to space. to see the brightness of the stars, and the silver glow of the moon. the cosmic dust and solar flares. 

her skin probably couldn’t handle such exposure, so it was a hopeless little dream. but she can live vicariously through the boss. 

~~even when she can’t stand to watch her go.~~

like watching the woman she loves slipping right through her fingers. 

she shakes her head without meaning to, and when joy raises a brow she waves her off. 

“you’re only flattering me… we’re just the scientists behind it all; _you’re_ the one who’s going to make the impossible happen, joy.” 

“oh… it’s just a bit complex, not impossible.”

and strangelove laughs, because of course she’d say that. _how easy it is for her to say._

her tea tastes awfully sweet tonight. 

“nobody else but you could do it.” strangelove holds her breath as the crickets chirp outside in the swampy grass. don’t turn the tea sour, don’t make it bitter— “...but do you want to? would you still do it, if you had the choice?” 

joy seems to consider it, _maybe_. but strangelove has a feeling she’ll hear the same answer as always. the boss’s arm wraps around strangelove’s shoulders, pulling her into the warm muscles at her side. 

then, “there _is_ no other option. i’d be loyal to my duty, to the end. what i want is irrelevant.”

if she didn’t sound so wise—so filled with poise in every word—she’d be like a broken record. 

“i see.”

 ~~_why would you bring that up? it’s those nerves of yours. you should change the subject_ ~~ _~~.~~ _

“—but, ah, is your tea nice? you filled it with honeycomb pieces, yes?” 

joy’s free hand slips a white scrunchie around her platinum blonde locks, the new side-ponytail resting upon her left shoulder. “i did. i have to say, your british recipes are a lot more in-tune to my tastes. it must be the different way it’s brewed.”

“that’s to be expected.” strangelove’s cup is already less than a quarter full, so she sets it down on the coster that's on the coffee table. “i do love the sharpness of mint in my tea...but it surprises me that you’d go for such a _decadent_ flavor.” 

“there are many things about me that might surprise you.” she watches as joy sets her tea to the side, too, despite only being done with half of it. “but you know the depths of my heart, like i know yours. if you think about the reasoning, you won’t be so surprised.” 

she’s right, and there’s no need for words, because joy knows she understands. 

at some point, joy’s fingers cup her head by the chin, pulling their faces together. inside, in this darkness, strangelove can stand to be without her sunglasses and long sleeves—joy can see the passion in those light eyes of her, and the slender planes of her body. 

their lips stay together while joy’s other palm falls to her back, smoothening down her spine and resting right before her bottom. strangelove slips her hands underneath joy’s loose tanktop, tugging her marginally closer by the waist. 

by touch alone, she can find the stitched scar that curls like a snake from her breast to lower abdomen. her fingertip follows the trail, its delicate padded skin pressing into hard muscle. 

the kisses move downward, the touches get longer, until they’re both sleepy and dizzy. strangelove collapses on top of her and lays on her chest, joy’s back pressed into the couch cushions. 

joy holds her close while the galaxy shines down on them, for however long they have. 

* * *

> **IV. ——**

_we sought each other out... completed each other._

but that was lifetimes ago. 

they’re no longer one in the same, like those happy days. it would’ve been foolish to assume that time would last forever. 

after rehab, the boss disappears like a spectre, off to her next mission, and strangelove throws herself into her artificial intelligence work—unable, still, to forget about _her_. 

it would be too painful to act like those times never happened, anyway. or is it too painful to remember the happiness that could’ve been? the happiness they’d pulled over their eyes like a curtain, pretending it could last forever but knowing it couldn’t?

the spacepod had fallen like a shooting star, and with it their past had evaporated, as if that hope for a quiet life hadn’t existed at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> plugging my stuff etc etc
> 
> [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/togeklssu)   
>  [KOFI](https://ko-fi.com/mochacreams)


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